


The Violin

by Keagan_Ashleigh



Series: Symphony For Lost Souls [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 221B Baker Street, Angst, Episode: s03e02 The Sign of Three, Ficlet, John and Mary's Wedding, M/M, Pining, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-05-13 11:25:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5705917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keagan_Ashleigh/pseuds/Keagan_Ashleigh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During the wedding's party, John realize Sherlock left without his violin. He goes at Baker Street to give the violin back to its owner, but Sherlock isn't there. The question is, what to do with the violin?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Violin

**Author's Note:**

> Note that English isn't my first language, so if there's a mistake, I'm sorry. ^^

« Sherlock ? » called John as he entered his old living-room, holding a violin case in his hands.

He scanned the room with a bit of worry, as nobody answered to him. It felt so strange, coming back in this dusty old flat the day after his wedding.  
This is – was – his home. He never felt more at home than sitting in the old chair with the threadbare tapestry. Stepping in the corridor always was natural and secure, it felt like coming back in a comfy cocoon where no harm could reach them. Even the body parts in the most unusual places for body parts seemed like a reassuring constancy.  
But today, it felt odd. He felt like he didn’t deserved to step back in. He abandoned the place. He turned his back to his home when Sherlock was gone, because without him, it wasn’t complete. Everything reminded him of Sherlock – of his absence – he couldn’t face a life without him so he ran away. He abandoned the place. Then he found a new home – at least he thought he had, at first. He felt like he cheated on it.

This flat held so much memories within it, so much laughs and tears. It’s like all of this was impregnated in every piece of furniture, every fibre of each fabric, every piece of wood, every grain of dust. He could sense it in the light flowing through the curtains, illuminating the friendly ghosts of his memory, illuminating the ghost of Sherlock sitting in the chair, the pink case opened in front of him, or lying on the sofa, eyes closed, his hands under his chin.  
There was no item that didn’t lead to a memory he held dear in his heart. And there was no item he loved more than the violin, the sweet melodies filling the air, the way Sherlock looked like he was caught in a daydream while playing.

Baker Street was his one true home. And he abandoned it because he was too scared and couldn’t see these ghosts without thinking it was lost forever. He abandoned it like Sherlock abandoned his precious violin.

He was supposed to prepare for his honey moon, but last night he found Sherlock’s Stradivarius, next to his waltz’s score.

Some time in the night, between two dances and a few glasses of wine, he realized his friend was nowhere to be found. Sherlock vanished, without a word.He searched in every corner when he realized Sherlock left the party. And he saw the violin, lying on a chair, so he thought “he must still be here, somewhere, he wouldn’t be left without his violin”. So he looked for him, inspecting every room, at least twice, the instrument in his hand, questioning everyone - because he was so sure he was still there.  
But he finally understood he was gone. He went outside a last time, just to be sure, but Sherlock had left long ago. He looked at the violin in his hand, and he thought that maybe he’ll come back when he will realize he forgot it.  
This instrument was the most precious thing Sherlock ever owned, he has to come back for it. He has to, he has to, why did he left it? Why did he left me? He has to come back! John thought, sitting in the alley, his head in one hand, the violin on the other. But Sherlock never came back that night.

He spent the whole night worrying about this violin, thinking that maybe something happened to its owner. Thinking, maybe, after all, he never really cared about it. He doesn’t feel things that way.  
All the amazing songs he played, did he ever enjoyed them. Was it for him just a way to pass the time and focus? Does he really care about the songs he plays? Did he ever felt the music like John was feeling it?

“That’s stupid, I am thinking too much, that’s probably just nothing, he probably just forgot it.”

Early in the morning, he told Mary he has to bring it back to Sherlock. She answered: “It can not wait until next week?”  
No. It can’t. That’s wrong. He can’t leave it here, without it, Baker Street is not all. The violin is the heart of this home. It has to return in Sherlock’s hands. John can’t think about 221B without seeing the violin.

He went to Baker Street, hoping that Sherlock would be here, hoping that he will explain why he left. But as he was standing in the doorway, the violin in his hands, he realized he was alone.  
He called Sherlock’s name a third time, knowing that nobody would answer – but hoping that wherever he was, he could hear him call his name.  
That he could hear how sorry he was. How regretful he was. He had so much to say, there was so much unspoken words lying on this single call. “Sherlock”.

John stayed a long time watching the violin, thinking about what he had to do about it. He couldn’t just put it somewhere so Sherlock could find it, he had to give it to Sherlock in person. It felt like it was the right thing to do. He felt like maybe Sherlock didn’t want to see it now.  
But it has to be in this flat, it was part of it – it was Baker Street’s core - he couldn’t go back in his new home with it.

So he went up to his room and deposed it carefully here, somewhere safe, so when the moment will come, he could give it back to Sherlock.


End file.
